


Failing to Fight Fate

by cat_77



Category: Shadowhunters (TV), The Shadowhunter Chronicles - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Episode Related, F/M, M/M, Malec, Soulmates
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-24
Updated: 2020-08-24
Packaged: 2021-03-06 22:40:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,464
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26076592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cat_77/pseuds/cat_77
Summary: Soulmates were nothing but the stuff of legends.  Then again, as Jace so loved to say, all the legends were true.
Relationships: Clary Fray/Jace Wayland, Magnus Bane/Alec Lightwood
Kudos: 95





	Failing to Fight Fate

**Author's Note:**

> Because every fandom needs more soulmate fic.

Soulmates, once such a common and everyday thing, had become so rare as to be the stuff of legends. Then again, as Jace so loved to say, all the legends were true.

It was a simple enough concept: somewhere, out there amongst the teeming masses, was the one person who completed another. Not quite a half to a whole, but more like they balanced out the inherent chaos of an individual life. What one might lack, or at least not excel at, the other might provide, or at least know how to cope with on a regular basis. 

Supposedly, all the great alliances of the past were maintained by soulmates. A simple touch and it was marked upon their skin for all to see that they were bound to be together for eternity, or however long they survived. Fate itself had decided they would work together, and no one would question such a force. Until, of course, they did. Why should a princess bond with a simple carpenter when there was a nobleman willing to help take down a common enemy for the price of her hand? Then there was the fact that some bonds seemed to have precisely nothing to do with such a flighty thing like love anyway and the two worked well in battle or negotiation or something else. These platonic bonds were pushed as proof that the Universe didn’t necessarily have the last say in all matters of the heart.

Actually, quite a lot was pushed away. Mundanes manipulated as they saw fit and rarely were their marks visible beyond a matching precisely shaped scar. Downworlders had something similar but, mix in the use of glamours or unbridled healing abilities, and it was hard to tell what was real and what was not. As for Nephilim, yet another mark upon them wasn’t something noticeable, save for the fact said mark tended to almost glow when the soulmates physically touched. Then, of course, you mix in their entirely too short lifespans due to their line of work, Clave manipulations, and the inherent xenophobia that prevented them from ever looking towards anything but one of their own, and it was found that there simply were not that many soulmates to be concerned about. They had their parabatai anyway, someone that they chose to share a piece of themselves with versus leaving it to chance. Far more orderly. Far more controlled.

Until it wasn’t.

Fate fought back.

Alec knew something extra had happened that night at the club because of the sheer feeling of “other” that came through his bond with Jace. He had never felt such a sensation before and had absolutely no idea what it could be. He did, however, assume it was tied in with the sheer amount of stupidity that followed.

A Mundane girl screwed up their mission and, instead of moving on to try to rectify the errors and maybe possibly weed out some information on why blood was being traded between demons and otherwise, Jace ran off to see to the Mundane. He ended up saving her from yet another demon and bringing her to the Institute which, okay, proved she wasn’t strictly a Mundane as she held a rune on her skin and didn’t set off any alarms when he carried her in. He still called her a Mundane anyway, mainly to piss off Jace and to point out that he knew precisely nothing about her or what she might be hiding. Something was still off about her, and the situation as a whole, and Alec was determined to figure out what. 

Flash forward barely anytime at all and they discover she’s the kid of arguably the worst enemy of their own kind. He honestly didn’t believe she herself was evil, but did believe she drew evil towards her by sheer dumb luck if nothing else. Added to this, Jace’s behavior got worse instead of better, and he still offered precisely no explanation as to why, even when he asked him directly.

Then, okay, he kind of got caught up in his own drama for a while. They did the little circle thing to call a fricken demon to try to help their newfound problem child, and something major changed. The moment his hand connected with that of the notorious warlock Magnus Bane, he felt pure energy course through him. He figured that was the point of the whole event and tried to ignore it and move on, but his chest physically burned and he could barely draw a single breath without his body as a whole reverberating with that simple movement. The circle must have been corrupted or the demon too strong or something, there simply was no other explanation. And then he went and screwed it up and almost let the demon out and almost killed his parabatai. The barely trained almost-Mundane ended up killing it at great loss to herself that she had every right to never forgive him for, and he was still trying to figure out why his heart echoed with something unidentifiable.

He hid in his room that night, just for a little while. Jace was still obsessed about Clary and everything else and barely noticed save for a raised eyebrow when he damn near slammed the door on them all. There, in the sanctity of his own bedroom, he dared to unbutton his shirt to see just what kind of damage the demon had left behind. 

It was barely there, barely visible, but precisely where he had felt the worst of whatever the sensation had been earlier. Slightly raised like a fading scar, was a small circle with a line through it. The line was a little thicker in the center and then weirdly pointed at the ends like the tips of his arrows more than anything else. He had been marked. But why? What did the demon want with him and would it even matter as he had been vanquished before he was even fully formed? Or was this a debt to be repaid later, and probably at an incredibly inopportune time?

He resolved to look through the various codices to research the mark and how to remove it, even if it faded from sight on its own, which he kind of doubted it would. He would serve as no tie to this mortal realm for any such creature. He was tempted to go ask Hodge or maybe one of the medics about it, after all he was supposed to report any and all injuries as well as any and all unusual occurrences, but something held him back. And there was absolutely no way he was going to tell his mother when she showed up as he had clearly disappointed her enough already. He used an iratze to zero affect, and he really did not want to be sidelined while others poked at him and Jace ran off to get into trouble again.

Which, of course, he did.

Instead of doing the sensible thing and sitting in the library surrounded by tomes and scrolls, something even his parents would approve of in almost any given situation, he had to go stop his parabatai from setting the world on fire. Again.

So, okay, part of that was his fault. He was supposed to watch Clary and of course that went horribly wrong and she was kidnapped. They rescued her only to need to be rescued themselves, and that rescue came from a truly unexpected source. Despite what he told Jace about needing to stay out of a pack Alpha dispute, he already had the argument in place with his parents: Fray’s surrogate father, a werewolf, risked his life to save theirs and to prevent her from being used as a pawn to get the Mortal Cup. He was injured and so, in repayment for his deeds, Jace helped bring him to a warlock to heal his injuries thus preventing any further debt from being called.

How in the Angel’s name this ended up with his sneaking out of the Institute to help them he had no idea.

The only thing he knew was that Magnus had requested his presence and something about needing his strength or energy or something. Okay, so he knew more than that, like the way Magnus had appeared in damn near every stray thought since their little failed summoning and how he kept having to talk himself out of finding reasons to see him anyway.

When he approached the warlock’s loft, the wards parted for him as though they had never even existed. When he stepped through the doorway, he saw Magnus struggling and knew there was absolutely no choice in the matter, he would be there for him in any way he could manage.

He caught him before he could fully collapse and tried to hide the wince as the exact spot on his chest damn near sizzled with the contact. The moment their hands touched though, that sizzle turned into something else entirely. Something else not unpleasant in the least.

There was a lot of glowing and lights and everything else as Magnus’ magic surged to try to heal Luke. He managed to keep the werewolf steady for long enough for Clary to pour a truly disgusting looking cure down his gullet, and then everything just… stopped. No more glow, no more convulsing werewolf, no more warlock to hold hands with. The last part was also mainly due to the fact that said warlock had bodily collapsed on top of him, but he wasn’t about to mention that.

Also, the glow hadn’t fully disappeared. It was still there, but not from Magnus’ magic, not directly. The mark on his chest, the faded little almost-scar, shone dully through the fabric of his dark shirt. Magnus himself noticed before anyone else did, raised his eyebrows, and then waved his hand to use some of the last of his magic to stop the glow. Or at least it stopped others from seeing it as Alec himself could still feel the not quite burning, the overwhelming feeling of _something_ that he wasn’t sure he wanted to end.

They didn’t talk about it. Not in front of the others and not until it was late enough to be early, remaining at the loft despite his best judgement. 

“Does the mark you put on me mean you can call upon me whenever you want now? I’m bound to your use in some way?” he drawled around a yawn. He would be furious, taught to be suspicious of all Downworlders and their intents from birth, but he was either too tired or simply resigned to his fate already. It wasn’t like he ever had much choice in his life anyway.

Magnus raised one perfectly coifed eyebrow. Seriously, the only sign he had been through their little ordeal was the very slight smudging of his eyeliner, and Alec honestly could not remember if it had been an artistic choice to start with. “You really don’t know, do you?” the warlock asked, curious.

He lolled his head back against the padding of the couch he sat upon. “I figured it was either you or that memory demon that marked me as, I don’t know, some sort of tribute or something. That guy’s gone and you summoned me for help. The moment I touched you, this sucker came to life again.”

Instead of answering him directly, Magnus asked, “May I see it? This mark you speak of?”

Alec wasn’t sure why it was a big deal as clearly he should know what he put on him. He tugged off his shirt easily enough and glanced down to where the thing looked far more fresh and far less faded.

Magnus blinked a few times and then cleared his throat. “Sorry, distracted by the abs and the chest and the… yes, for a moment. I’m back,” he muttered with a vague gesture to where Alec had flopped back again. He focused in again and reached out towards the raised skin, only to pull back at the last moment. Oddly, Alec felt infused with a warm comfort the closer he got, and the feeling faded as he pulled away again. “Interesting…” he whispered, more to himself than to his half naked companion.

“So, am I bound to you now? You know the Clave will not allow this so you might as well break whatever little spell you created now unless you really want to face them,” Alec said accusingly. Well, he tried to be accusing, but he mostly just tried to keep his eyes open.

Magnus hurriedly shook his head. “It appears a bond has been made, but I assure you there was no malicious intent on my part, mainly because there was no intent at all.” He frowned when Alec tugged his shirt back on, fingers tangled in the necklace he wore closest to his own heart. “It will take a little bit of research to confirm my suspicions, and I do not want to make any promises or declarations of removal or otherwise until I am certain what we are dealing with here. It will be at least a day though, maybe more, as the tomes I wish to review are not in this city and I simply do not have the strength to make a portal at this time.”

“I believe you,” Alec told him, though he hadn’t intended to say anything at all. The moment the words left his mouth though, he knew them to be true. “Just… figure it out? A Shadowhunter at the mercy of a warlock’s whims is not going to go over well with pretty much anyone.”

Magnus released his necklace to hold up his hand. “I swear to you, on anything and everything you might ask me to, that I will never require you to do a single thing you do not wish to do.” He waited for Alec’s nod of acceptance of that oath before he offered, “Martini? I’d say we earned it.”

One martini led to more than one as they sat and chatted the rest of the darkness away. Magnus didn’t pry so much as ask relatively open-ended questions about what it was like growing up under the watchful eye of the Clave. He seemed to understand a lot about runes and their uses but he was also supposedly hundreds of years old so it was more than likely that Alec was not the first Shadowhunter he had encountered in his many years. Somewhere between a yawn and a blink, he must had passed out as, the next thing he knew, he was pushing himself up from face-planting against the arm of the couch, the sun streaming into the room at a slant that hinted at it being well past dawn.

“Did you drug me?” he asked, only partially serious. He did a mental review and found nothing out of place other than being a little stiff from being in on position for so long.

“Not at all!” Magnus insisted from where he sat in a chair across from him. “I think perhaps alcohol was not the wisest course of action after the night we had, however.”

He stood gracefully and offered a hand out to help Alec do the same. Alec refused and managed on his own, trying hard to ignore the warmth that enveloped him at the simple offer of action. A warmth that lessened when the warlock took a step back away from him. “I… I should get back,” he muttered. “I’m probably in enough trouble as it is.” His fingers caught on something and he belatedly realized it was the fabric of his own shirt as he had been absently rubbing at the little mark in the center of his chest. He quickly lowered his hand and shoved it into his pocket. “Um, thank you for the drink and, er, letting me crash here last night.”

Magnus nodded magnanimously. “Thank you for showing me that there are still some Shadowhunters not too full of themselves to refuse to assist a Downworlder in need.”

Alec edged for the door, not sure how to take that. “The werewolf helped a Nephilim, and you helped the werewolf in return. The least we could do is repay the favor,” he managed.

“Is that what your official report is going to say?” Magnus questioned with the hint of a grin. “Nothing of your taste in cocktails or lack of tolerance thereof?”

Alec snorted in spite of himself. “Something like that,” he admitted. “Probably with disciplinary action against me listed right after it anyway.”

Magnus frowned at that. In truth, it looked like he bristled all protectively. “There should be no such thing!” he insisted. A calming breath later, he added, “They should take no action against you. As you previously stated, it was a debt repaid. Luke assisted you, and you assisted Luke in return. As for you remaining here past the time of the others, you were simply making certain that no further action would be taken against the Nephilim for the glancing involvement in the injury of a pack leader and that I, the High Warlock of Brooklyn, would not request further payment in exchange for my services.”

“Do you?” Alec asked before he could stop himself. “Ask for further payment?”

Magnus rolled his eyes. “Tell your Clave or whoever else is looking for their pound of flesh that I accept your word that you are attempting to make certain that the Mortal Cup remains out of the hands of a genocidal maniac and his followers. You have convinced me that the Nephilim have no current plans to use said Cup to eradicate my kind and, as such, my services to Luke are on behalf of my position as a leader of the Downworlders of New York. That should, well, not make them happy, but at least make them back down a little.”

Alec wasn’t sure why the warlock was providing him with a cover story to use against his parents. Then again, he wasn’t sure why he had spent the night, so there was that. There was a connection of sorts forming, he supposed. Nephilim and Downworlder attempting to forge the beginnings of a true truce and work within the bounds of the Accords for the safety of all. Or some crap like that. He’d figure out the phrasing before he had to face his mother.

He faced his mother, who managed to both commend and mock his attempts at diplomacy. She felt they were wasted on a Downworlder who would undoubtedly not keep his word, but appreciated that he was mature enough to at least appear to care as that would go far in the eyes of the Clave. His father reminded him that the Accords themselves were created out of a few fleeting acts of similar thoughtfulness, and then reminded him how the Accords were not the be all and end all of their interactions with those of demon blood.

That was the core of it, really. He knew so little of those with demon blood save for the fact that they were supposedly untrustworthy. Demons, he knew were pure evil and he could dispatch them as he saw fit. Demon blooded meant there was usually a Mundane aspect at play, and his kind were to protect Mundanes. Combine the two, and he supposed he got a not-so-good Mundane with a few extra bells and whistles. Yet, despite what he had been taught, what had been ingrained in him since birth, Magnus had shown that he was far from not-so-good, and even Luke had proven the same. He was beginning to think that maybe Nephilim had a jaded view, or at least a biased one. He knew not all Shadowhunters were good and light, the Circle was proof enough of that. Yet Shadowhunters were supposed to be superior to Downworlders. Downworlders like the ones that had just saved himself and his family and worked to help him protect himself from the wrath of his own kind.

He intended to think on it, to try to reach his own conclusions. Of course, that’s when everything exploded into something even worse.

A Forsaken managed to get through the wards of the Institute, something that should have been impossible save for the fact Izzy believed it held both demon and angel blood. He was injured in the process even though he was supposed to the one to protect the others. His own parabatai sided with the child of their greatest enemy over himself and completed what could only be called an act of treason. His sister was implicated because Jace and Clary were in the wind and the Clave needed their welp to whip. He assumed they went after her so that he could watch that play out before he was tested for his own obvious failures. Jace managed to return in time to save Izzy, but with news that Valentine himself was alive and plotting against them all. This was not even getting into finding out his own parents had been Circle members or the fact that the not-Mundane girl’s definitely Mundane friend had somehow gotten turned into a vampire along the way.

The only light in everything that happened was Magnus, and he refused to be drawn to it. The timing just didn’t make sense. He fought against the overwhelming feeling of right and the urge to give into the warlock’s request to help heal him because of the stray thought at the back of his mind that maybe, just maybe, Magnus was involved in the attack in some way and was using it to further whatever hold he held over him. Magnus even agreed to help try to save Izzy from the Clave when he had no reason to other than to try to prove to Alec that he wasn’t evil. And maybe Alec enjoyed seeing him again and the sense of warmth that enveloped him whenever he was around, but he really could do without a horrific wound and the threat of the equivalent of death hanging over his sister’s head to reach it.

Then there was Lydia. Running away from the draw of that probably false warmth, he made a rash decision that would help them both. Nephilim first, as always. They would run the Institute together, solidify each other’s claims to power, and she would be seen as past the brief nonsense rumors that her former husband had been a superstitious soulmate and not a righteous political bond, while he would restore his family name. Bind their families via marriage and show that level headedness ruled, as was right and proper. Though he had to admit that tossing in a trial against his sister led by his fiancé hadn’t been in the plans. Lydia had shown she followed rules deeper than those of the Clave when she publicly chose reason over law. She had to know what she was getting herself into, tying herself to his family. Even he wasn’t sure it would be enough to rid the Lightwood name of the tarnish his parents had put on it anymore, especially since it would be easy enough to lump Izzy and his problems in with simply being a Lightwood. It would potentially drag her down, yet she was willing to do it anyway. That, more than anything, convinced him that it was the right action: logic over feelings as always.

Izzy decided he needed a bachelor party even though she was verbally against the union. It wasn’t the Nephilim way, yet she proved to not follow the debauchery of the Mundane way either. She set it up so that he and his parabatai would have a chance to talk, to iron out everything that had happened since the fight and the treason and the betrayal. As an added bonus, she set it up away from the prying eyes of their parents or anyone from the Clave. He had the strong suspicion based upon her phrasing and the lack of the usual security measures in the room that absolutely nothing was recorded either. A true chance to hash things out then, hopefully sans weapons this time.

This, as all things in his life recently, did not go the way he expected.

“So, Clary’s your sister? What’s up with that?” he asked, possibly because he knew it would hurt.

“Just… don’t…” Jace sighed, hands up in defense. He was still deciding if he would acquiesce to the request or get at least one more jibe in when Jace lowered his hands and seemed to come to a decision. And important one too if his expression was anything to go by. “Actually, yeah, we’re getting into this. Are the cameras off?”

A quick text to his sister came back with a response that she wasn’t an amateur, and so he nodded in the affirmative. He expected a rant about family and the draw to them and blood ties or something along those lines. He did not expect Jace to reach for his belt and drop his trousers. He raised his eyebrows, a stuttered response on the tip of his tongue at the sight of the other man in his boxer briefs, but then Jace yanked up versus down on the hem of the dark fabric. 

There, high enough on his thigh to nearly be on his hip, was an interestingly shaped scar. Or maybe not a scar as it wasn’t really raised so much as a dark, almost red discoloration in the shape of a starburst with a one edge longer and curved up and away from the rest of it. “It started off looking like a cut or a brand, and seems to have settled into this,” Jace non-explained. Then, to add to the confusion, he added, “She has one that matches. It’s gotten darker the longer we’ve been around each other. Both of them have.”

Alec pulled his hand back from where he had started to reach for the mark, as intimate of a location as it was in. “Marked as Morgensterns?” he reasoned. He knew the name came from Morning Star, and the shape was roughly if artistically that, but something still seemed off.

Jace shook his head and pulled his pants back into place. “Nothing in any record has any Morgenstern having a mark like this. I never had it until Clary showed up, and she never had hers until she met me. That should rule out Valentine’s manipulations. In this other… well, world for lack of a better word, we were still together, still marked. We had no clue about Nephilim or demons or anything else, no need to hide either of us from each other, and there were zero signs that we were related.”

“Then what?” Alec asked, not quite understanding what he was getting at. He thought of his own hidden mark and how he had gotten it. “Valentine marked you in some other way? A sigil to call on you later?” It didn’t fully make sense but, then again, little did at this point.

“Soulmates,” Jace blurted, eyes alight with a happiness Alec had so rarely seen in him. And there it was, that feeling of contentment through their bond that had become an almost common thread as of late, and something so rarely felt, at least to this level, before now. “They were more common in the other place and people referenced their ‘mates’ and used that same language with Clary and me.”

Alec gave in to the urge to rub the bridge of his nose. “Soulmates are legends here and no, don’t add that last part on,” he sighed. Given Jace’s expression, it was a near thing to hold back the extra commentary. “Why did you hide this? We could have researched it, figured out what it really was.”

Jace bit his lower lip and looked uncertain, almost vulnerable. “Nephilim are raised to see soulmates as inconsequential. My… my father, or at least who I thought was my father, believed more than that. He believed them to be a liability, a weakness to exploit. I wasn’t going to give anyone that chance, not against me and not against Clary.”

Alec felt like he had been stabbed in the chest. “You know I would never!” he started, but wasn’t sure how he was going to end that sentence. Jace seemed to believe in this nonsense, and fully at that. He had already questioned it, so he already wasn’t looking that good and he knew it.

Jace held up a hand to stop his protest. “I know you wouldn’t. Not you, not my parabatai. Even with everything else, I know you would never do something like that to me, which is why I am trusting you with this now.”

“And before? Why wait so long to tell me?” Alec asked, trying to keep the hurt out of his tone.

The response was not what he expected. The uncertainty was back, both in expression and in waves from their bond. “I wanted something that was mine, just mine,” Jace admitted in a voice not much more than a whisper. “Growing up, anything special was to be shared, or taken away outright as we should not work for the purpose of rewards. Even when I moved in with you guys, it was everything out on the table, everyone knew everything and everything was fair game from discussion and being mocked or dissected at the dinner table. I just…”

“Wanted something that was only yours for a change,” Alec finished for him. He waited for the tiny shrug before he added, “You do know that, if this really is a soulmark, it’s not just yours? I mean, you literally just said Clary had one too.”

Jace smacked him the way he knew he would, but the uncertainty was replaced by fond exasperation, so he called it a win. “Jerk,” he said without heat. “And the mark was mine as far as I was concerned, at least up until I found out Clary had a matching one. Now, it’s ours, but she, she is mine. I’m hers and she’s mine and the universe or whatever has decided that we get each other and, man, it’s an amazing feeling.”

“Assuming you are right – which is still in question, by the way – why would Valentine say you were siblings then? What is he playing at?” He really did not need the details on how Jace knew Clary had a mark and if it was in the same location as his own. He was going to pretend the redhead figured it was something tied to the Nephilim and questioned it and nothing more.

“That’s what we want to figure out,” Jace replied. “We know he’s lying – it’s Valentine, of course he’s lying – but he totally has no clue about these marks or that we’re on to him. Nowhere in anything we found here or the other place have siblings been marked. He wants to use us against each other in some way, and like hell am I giving him the extra fodder. Someone is helping him; he knows too much about current events for him not to have anyone on the inside. We figured that we’d play along and see where it takes us, not trust a single word out of his mouth, and use him to find anyone else who sides with him and toss them to the Gard.”

As far as plans went, it was a very Jace plan. That was to say rash and dangerous and likely to work though possibly at a risk to all involved. 

“Why are you telling me this?” he questioned. “We just found out that my own parents were members of the Circle, who’s to say the family as a whole isn’t?”

Jace scoffed and looked at him like he was the dumb one. “You are my parabatai. I love you and trust you with a piece of my soul. Which means I trust you with Clary’s safety as much as my own.” He paused and glanced away for a moment before he met his eyes once more, the gaze burning in its intensity. “I know you’re hiding something, just like I hid this from you. I won’t press, but I hope you tell me when you are ready. I also hope you know just how much I believe in you and know you will do the right thing.”

“Why do I have the feeling the ‘right thing’ is some sort of pointed commentary?”

“Because Lydia had a soulmate, and it wasn’t you,” Jace said bluntly. “She’s logic and reason and power hungry like the rest of anyone who has ever made it anywhere in our society. She’s using you, and you know you’re using her. It will blow up eventually, and you know it.”

Alec shook his head and sat down heavily on the padded bench. “It protects the family. It protects Izzy and Max and technically you,” he pointed out.

“At the cost of yourself. Which is too damned high.”

“Well, I’m the one paying it so I’m the one to make that decision,” Alec spat back. It wasn’t the most mature argument he had ever made, but it was also not the most immature discussion he and Jace had ever had, so there was that. 

“And when she finds out-” Jace started, but stopped himself.

Alec looked at him warily. “When she finds out what?” he prompted.

Jace simply shook his head as though he had decided against something for a change. “Nothing,” he sighed, and was entirely unconvincing. “Just… When the time comes, make the right decision, that’s all I ask.” And with that, he walked away.

Alec questioned what he meant, right up until he didn’t. 

He and Lydia continued with the wedding preparations and, damn near every hour, she’d check in on him to make sure he was still okay with a political bond versus one of love. She had lived through the first and was convinced he was denying himself the chance to do the same. She was also practical though, and didn’t want to give up either of their chances of breaking free from their pasts and making a name for themselves by themselves if at all possible. 

In the name of practicality, she asked if it would be possible to slightly alter the need for a rune on the hand and on the heart. She admitted that she and John had gone so far as to add the wedded union rune to themselves despite never having a formal ceremony in the eyes of the Clave. Her own rune was scarred and faded after her lover’s death and, in honor of him and to show new beginnings, she requested the new one be slightly off center so that both would remain whole. He possibly panicked as he had forgotten about the one over his heart and he had the weird demon mark there instead. The weird demon mark that had yet to go away. 

For possibly the first time in her life, Lydia Branwell read a situation wrong. “It’s okay,” she insisted. She unbuttoned the first three buttons of the blouse she wore and showed him the scar of a rune. “See, still plenty of room to add the other one.”

His eyes caught, not on the rune nor the slight amount of cleavage now revealed, but on another mark barely visible along the upper curve of her breast. “What’s that?” he asked, but he feared he already knew the answer. It was an almost burgundy red, small, and shaped almost like the set of staves that he knew the two of them were infamous for fighting with.

Lydia blushed and ran a fingertip over the mark. She cleared her throat and managed, “We said we were soulmates; we were not lying despite what the Clave might say. We touched, these formed, and every touch after they grew darker until they became this. It was quite unsettling. A warlock of all people assured us it was fine and what they were as the Clave mocked any inquiry. She showed us tomes and scrolls explaining the same and with illuminated examples and everything.”

Alec nodded mutely, and thought of how the mark he was determined to ignore had grown darker, right up until he refused to even get near Magnus again. 

“We can do yours off center as well if you’d like,” she offered as she buttoned her shirt back up. “I’m assuming you might already have a rune there like your sister. If not, traditional is fine too.”

He swallowed heavily and his pause is what caught her attention. At her questioning gaze, he admitted, “There’s a mark, but, um, it’s not a rune.”

She gestured for him to show her and, when he stalled, waved her hand. “It’s either show me now so we can figure this out or show it to the ceremony as a whole, including the Clave representatives,” she pointed out.

With a sigh, he tugged up his own shirt to reveal the weird circular mark. “I’m not sure what it is, actually. It just sort of formed, but then remained steady like this. We had just vanquished a demon, but I had it confirmed it wasn’t a way to call on me and…”

Lydia pressed her lips together silently. She waited him out, babbling and all, and then only said, “If the creator of the mark is no longer relevant, then we can either cover it for the ceremony or leave it, but I suggest we put yours off center as well.” There was a question to her tone, one he pointedly ignored.

He took the out that he was only kind of given and readily agreed. “Off center works, though I might ask Izzy about covering it. My parents invited delegates from the Clave, and I would prefer not to have to explain an unknown inconsistency like this.”

“Demons are not known to have soulmates,” she blurted. A breath, and then she was refined as usual once more. “I mean, if that was your concern. The coloration is similar to my own mark during the early days with John and is traditional for Mundane and Nephilim marks. Harder to say about non-Nephilim due to glamours, but the texts I was able to review personally posit that the blood of the humans controls these marks more than anything else. As you are both human and angel, it stands to reason the mark would follow those rules. It will remain for the duration of your life, whether or not the other party…”

She trailed off, clearly remembering John. The compassionate side of him wanted to give her that moment, but the defiant side won out and said, “The other party is no longer relevant, to use your earlier phrasing.”

She nodded tightly. A blink and a clearing of her throat later, she advised, “If you are unable to find what you need from your sister’s supplies, I may have something that works to hide it. Either via makeup, or an elaborate enough glamour to pass the purview of the Clave.” With that, she turned on her heel and left, the echo of his thanks in her wake.

He did not use the remaining time before the wedding to contemplate soulmates, nor did he use that time to contemplate just who his likely soulmate actually was. In truth, he actively tried to think of anything but that. Anything but the fact that there may well be one person in the universe as a whole that completed him, and that he was actively denying that for logic and reason and duty instead. 

Ok, so he might have thought about it. Constantly. But he did so only under the guise of how futile such a thing would be when his kind, his people, were taught not to rule with their hearts but with their heads instead. This whole soulmate business seemed counter to all of that and Jace and his recent behaviors were a prime example of that. If that was even a thing, a real thing, and not some delusion or manipulation or… He was getting himself worked up again and he needed to stop that. He took a deep breath and shut out all further contemplation of this whole ridiculousness, at least until such time as he wasn’t getting ready to walk down the aisle to complete a political union for the betterment of his family.

And then Magnus showed up.

He had stele in hand, as did Lydia, ready to make the marks that would finalize the process. She verified one last time that he was sure and that pause, that delay, was all it took for a wayward warlock to breach the wards that he himself had created to stand silently questioning if this was truly the correct choice for them both.

“Alec?” Lydia asked. Hesitant. Knowing.

He scratched at his chest, at the burning itch that had started up again. “I..” he started, but wasn’t sure how to end it. “I can’t breathe,” he tried. It explained the way he clutched at his chest, the warmth there now a palpable thing.

“It’s okay,” she told him. A glance to her, and he knew she spoke the truth. She would support him in whatever decision he made.

Magnus took a step closer, said something sharp and likely distasteful to Maryse if his mother’s expression was anything to go by. It was hard to focus, hard to hear. Everything in him tried to fight against the tide, against the burning, against the want. That one step though, was enough to start the chain of events that risked changing his life forever.

“Alec,” Lydia breathed. She gestured towards his shirt, towards where the mark hidden with makeup and fabric and a glamour – which was strictly overkill but he wasn’t taking any chance – began to glow.

He looked down in sorrow, his will crumbling. “I can’t do this,” he whispered.

“It’s okay,” she repeated. Her stele was tucked in her palm, her free hand gentle against his shoulder. “Go. Be with him. I will never keep you from this.”

With a breath, he did just that. One step, and then another and another. Each one ratcheted up the warmth blooming within. Each one seemed to heighten the glow emanating from the exact same place on the man before him. His mother tried to stop him, tried to make him see reason, tried to make him ignore his true feelings, feelings she would never understand but apparently Jace and Lydia and even Clary did. “Enough!” he damned near shouted, but he wasn’t sure if it was at her or at himself.

He stood before him now. His soulmate. His Magnus. He looked into his eyes and saw everything he needed to, everything he wanted to, and stopped fighting fate. He tugged him close and crashed his lips to his and the world exploded in light and warmth and rightness. He had never felt that way before, wasn’t sure if he would again, but none of it mattered. This time, this moment, was his. It belonged to him and to Magnus and to no one else.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into the next kiss. “Please forgive me?”

“Nothing to forgive,” Magnus promised before their lips met once more.

When they reluctantly pulled back, their marks still glowed though they were slowly settling into something a little less ostentatious. There were murmurs all around them, some supportive and some anything but. There was a word, repeated again and again in a dozen different voices. Soulmates. They knew. They uttered it themselves. Even the Clave couldn’t deny what was right in front of their faces. Oh, they’d try, but there were too many witnesses, too many who knew the truth of the matter and could not be silenced. It appeared that, officially, the Clave did not support the idea of soulmates but, unofficially, they could not fight what fate and the Angel himself had allowed.

The road ahead would be far from easy. There would be battles hard won and there would be losses that would scar them forever. There were centuries’ worth of prejudice and competing mythologies to contend with, and that wasn’t even mentioning the Clave’s undoubted manipulations or facing Valentine himself. 

But that was for later. Now, now was for him. For them. For two souls the universe decided belonged together. Whatever they might face in the future, they would not face it alone. And they would win. One simply had no other option when the universe itself was on their side.


End file.
